The simple question sobered Douglas. It brought back an unpleasant recollection best forgotten. Eleanor’s bewitching personality had always exerted an extraordinary influence over him. He found himself watching her every movement, instinct with grace, and eagerly waiting to catch her smile. In Paris he had often cursed himself for a fool, even when attending a reception just to catch a glimpse of her. She was a born coquette, and could no more help enjoying an innocent flirtation than a kitten could help frolicking. It was her intense femininity which had first attracted him. Frightened at the influence she unconsciously exerted over him, he had deliberately avoided her—and Fate had thrown them together again. It was Kismet! Therefore, why not enjoy the goods the gods provided and be thankful?
“‘Time and tide wait for no man,’” he quoted. “I had to catch a steamer at a moment’s notice, hence the ‘P. P. C.’ card. Please show your forgiveness, and let me call.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Why, I’ll come anyway.”
Eleanor’s eyes twinkled. “Bravo. I like the spirit of young Lochinvar.”
“He came out of the West, whereas I come out of the East.”
“Oh, well, extremes meet.”
“Then don’t be surprised if I carry you off.” The words were spoken in jest, but the look in Douglas’ eyes caused Eleanor to blush hotly.
“Marse Brett am awaitin’ fo’ yo’, suh,” said Joshua from the doorway, breaking in on the tête-à-tête.
“Oh,—ah,—yes.” Douglas was suddenly conscious of the absence of the others. “Miss Thornton, I had no idea I was detaining you. Please say good-by to Mrs. Winthrop and your uncle. I never realized in Paris that you belonged to the Thorntons in Georgetown.”